


find contentment (where others find nothing)

by Quillium



Series: Dr. Wayne AU [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Dr. Wayne AU, Gen, Slice of Life, Steph-centric, can be read as a Standalone fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24508159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quillium/pseuds/Quillium
Summary: The truth is this, in the bright, shining morning, when the sun beats through her blinds and the birds wake her, that Steph isn’t bothered by the act of waking.It’s not waking she was dreading. It was washing her underwear. Which she has to do, now. Because she’s awake.“Fuck this,” she mumbles into her pillow, kicking her feet against the foot of the bed.OR: A day in the life of Stephanie Brown, ordinary girl
Relationships: Stephanie Brown & Bruce Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne
Series: Dr. Wayne AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1715896
Comments: 24
Kudos: 217





	find contentment (where others find nothing)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goldkirk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldkirk/gifts).



> Hope y'all are doing okay. Remember that your best isn't necessarily the best you can do ever--it's the best you can do in the moment. And sometimes that means getting out of bed, and that's enough. I know that you're doing your best, and I'm proud of you. Take the time to be proud of yourself, too, okay?
> 
> Thanks again to the precious goldkirk for letting me play in her sandbox--check out her fics, I promise you won't regret it.

The truth is this, in the bright, shining morning, when the sun beats through her blinds and the birds wake her, that Steph isn’t bothered by the act of waking.

Tim, who’s in the bed across from her, listening to her groan into the pillow, may say otherwise, but it’s _true_.

Steph really and truly does not mind waking.

It’s not waking she was dreading. It was washing her underwear. Which she has to do, now. Because she’s awake.

“Fuck this,” she mumbles into her pillow, kicking her feet against the foot of the bed.

Tim, who has possibly not slept for three days and only fell asleep at 6am a few hours ago, makes a high pitched whining sound and covers his head with his pillow.

Steph, upon realizing this, stops her kicking and lays very, very still. Because she is, despite what Jason may say after the confetti incident (which was, by the way, _not_ her fault), a very lovely and considerate person.

She _is_. Shut up, Tim. Stop whining. It’s hurting her ears. She’s stopped making noise, now can _he please_ —

Because Steph is a caring and kind and wonderful person, she covers Tim with a blanket, sets up that Chinese style room divider that Cass brought back from Hong Kong last year so that the sun doesn’t bother him and he’s still in darkness even though it’s—holy shit _11:00am???_ If this is because she fell asleep at 5am that was TIM’s fault, not her’s—and whispers, “You need noises?”

“Rain,” he mumbles, “Can you get the birds to shut up?”

“Probably not,” Steph says, and puts on the rain noises.

Because she’s lovely and considerate, she shoves on her socks, a hoodie, grabs a granola bar, and climbs out the window. She clings to the drainpipe and slides the window shut with her foot, before shimmying up and leaving a few bits of her granola bar on the roof, leading a trail for the birds.

Wonderfully, it works, and Steph leaves the rest of the granola bar on Dick’s windowsill. He likes birds. She’s sure that he’ll appreciate seeing the birds outside his window this fine… afternoon? Not yet. Morning, still.

She’s still creeping away when she hears Dick’s window slide open and he mumbles, “What the fu—ugh. Who did this? Hi, birds. You’re so pretty. Who the fuck did this? It’s a weekend. I deserve sleep. I’m—“ yawning, and more incomprehensible mumbling.

He’s cheerful, though, despite his grogginess, so Steph counts this as a win.

Heck yeah. She’s on a _roll_.

She saved Tim from birds (win). She brought Dick beautiful birds (probably a win). And now she’s getting _breakfast_.

Jason’s in the kitchen when she slides down another drainpipe and enters through the front door. He squints at her for a moment, back up the stairs, and says, bewildered, “I have been here since 6am.”

“Ew,” Steph says, “Why were you up so early?”

“Routine is good for you,” Jason mumbles, the tips of his ears turning pink, “A consistent sleep schedule is healthy and—“

“This sounds like one of Bruce’s health talks again.”

He sticks his tongue out at her.

She beams and bats her eyelashes at him.

Jason, huffing, points at the granite island, and mumbles, “Take a seat and I’ll make you some crepes and tofu.”

“With green onion?”

“ _Yes_ , Ms. High Maintenance.”

“You love me.”

“Of course I do, why else would I add green onion into your tofu?”

She laughs, and he starts pulling ingredients out of the fridge, humming quietly to himself as he goes. Steph peers at the batter on the counter, and asks, “So, since 6am, hm? Is that part of your routine?”

The tips of Jason’s ears, if possible, go even redder, and he says, “It’s just—I’ve been drinking a lot of tea while I was reading, lately. And I thought, since I’m in the kitchen, why don’t I make some snacks? Then one thing lead to another—“

“And now it’s 11am.”

“What? _Eleven_?”

“Yeah.”

Jason whips his head to stare at the clock on the microwave, “I’ve been here for five hours?”

“Apparently.”

“I made breakfast for _Bruce_ before he left.”

“For his surgery?”

“ _Yes_.”

“You’re _nuts_. Did you make breakfast for Alfie, too?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.”

“I also made breakfast for Cass and Dames.”

“Did Dick eat his cereal again instead of real food?”

“He’s still sleeping.”

“He sleeps in?”

“Dick’s a disaster, Steph. If I were to pick someone else in this family that he’s most similar to—“

“Don’t you say it. Don’t you _dare_ say it—“

“—It’d probably be you. Pass me the butter.”

Laughing, Steph hands Jason the butter from the fridge, “Fuck you.”

He bats his eyelashes at her and says, “You love me.”

She tips back so her head hangs over the edge of the island, laughing.

They pass the rest of the cooking process in what _could_ be called a conversation, but could also be called _Jason being a total nerd and telling Steph all about the book he’s currently reading and analyzing it from multiple points of view like a nerd_. Really, both work.

Jason sits across from Steph when she eats, he takes for himself a small bowl of tofu with soy sauce, green onion and honey, and eats it with a spoon.

Her tofu, fried in oil and green onions with beef, is eaten with chopsticks, which means she eats her _crepes_ with chopsticks, like a weirdo.

Thanks, Jason.

“Plans for the day?” Jason asks in that light, absent-minded way that most parents do, which always makes Steph laugh because he’s barely much older than her. Jason, though, has always been the most like Alfie and Bruce, among them.

“Work, homework, and housework,” Steph sighs, pressing her chin onto the palm of her hand, “You?”

“Oh, uh,” Jason stirs his tofu, “Y’know. Stuff.”

Steph narrows her eyes, “You have a nice day of relaxing, don’t you.”

Jason offers her a guilty smile.

“Well, good for you,” Steph puffs out her cheeks, “I’m going to work hard today so that I get a relaxing day, too.”

“Sorry, kiddo,” Jason eats slowly, savouring each bite, so he’s not even halfway finished his tiny bowl of tofu by the time Steph finishes her five crepes, tofu and beef.

She sighs, kissing him on the forehead when she leaves, washing the dishes in the sink on her way out.

“Thanks,” Jason mumbles from his place on the dinner table. He’s always last to finish when it’s just the family (and always the first in company). He knows how to eat fast, he just doesn’t want to.

“No problem,” Steph chirps, “Thanks for the crepes, enjoy your day.”

“You, too.”

She makes a face at him, and he laughs quietly.

Okay. Time to get to work.

* * *

Steph realizes, halfway up the Manor’s frankly ridiculous long staircase, that her homework, laptop, and phone are all in her bedroom.

Which is, of course. Not a problem.

Not at all.

Wouldn’t be at all.

Except.

She’s sharing a bedroom with Tim.

Because like… y’know. Reasons that are also the reason that Bruce shoved them in therapy.

Which would be fine. It’s totally fine.

Here is the problem: Timothy Drake, darling, love of her life, sweetheart, is asleep.

Which is not a problem. Totally not a problem! Because Tim barely sleeps and him sleeping is honestly probably the best thing ever.

However.

Steph, as much as math is her worst enemy and she hates numbers, can, in fact, do basic addition.

No matter what her third grade teacher said _suck it, Mrs. Morrison, you were a horrible teacher and mocking little eightyear old students is a bad life decision why and how the fuck did you even become a teacher_.

Here’s the math: Tim is asleep, for the first time in ages. Tim shares a bedroom with Steph. Said bedroom has all of Steph’s stuff. If Steph goes in to get her stuff, she risks waking Tim.

Here’s the problem: Steph has work to do. She cannot get the work. Because Tim is sleeping. Because she loves Tim, as stupid and sleep deprived as he is.

So Steph is going to not do that work.

That’s cool.

She can wash her underwear, practice her Mandarin—

She doesn’t want to wash her underwear without music.

Solution: Use someone else’s phone.

Steph is a _great_ problem solver.

Who’s phone to [steal] use?

Dick’s has good music. But Dick is asleep. Probably.

Maybe Steph can check if he’s still asleep.

She moves in front of his bedroom and uses the old tried and true way to check if he’s awake or not—she lies on her stomach and looks to see if the lights are on under the door’s crack.

The lights are on for a brief second, and then they turn off and Steph has only a moment to realize _oh shit_ before the door swings open and smashes into her face.

Steph, pressing her hands against her forehead, whines, “ _What did I do?_ ”

“Oh my god!” Dick exclaims, jumping back, hands over his mouth like the heroine of an action movie. (He does that a lot.) “Are you okay?”

“I’m dying,” Steph moans, falling backwards and lying on the ground, “The wound you gave me… it is grave… I shan’t survive the night… give my farewells to my brethren in battle… know that I do not hold this against you… you must continue to live… for my sake…”

Dick, laughing, gently pushes the door open against her foot. Graciously, Steph moves her toes so that Dick doesn’t squish them with the door, and allows him to crouch next to her.

“You have whipped cream here,” Dick says. When Steph cracks one eye open, he gestures to the side of his mouth, patiently, with a crooked rise to the edge of his lips, as though he is repeating the action and had tried to show here while she was busy playing dead.

Steph licks the whipped cream off and sits up, “Can I have your phone?”

“Why?”

“Music. I’mma wash my underwear.”

“What about _your_ phone?”

“It’s in my room. Tim’s sleeping.”

Dick’s grin is one of pure delight. “He’s _sleeping_?”

“Yeah. Didn’t even drug him.”

“ _Amazing_.”

“I know, right?”

“So you need my phone.”

“Yes. Because I cannot have even a 0.000000000000—“

“Okay.”

“--00000000001 percent chance of waking Tim up. You understand.”

Dick nods, gravely, knowing that this is of great importance. “Yeah, of course. And you know, I would totally give you my phone—“

“Noooo, don’t say _but_ —“

“…But you know that I like to work out in the morning, and I need my phone because it acts as a timer and cues when I switch from like, planks to crunches and stuff.”

“Disgusting,” Steph mumbles, half-heartedly, “Fine. Go and be fit and healthy and live a good life. I hate you. You’re the worst.”

Dick kisses her forehead, “Good luck, Steph-not-chef. You need help getting someone else’s phone? Maybe Cass will lend you her’s.”

“Nah, she’s been on a duolingo binge for French lately.”

“Ah.”

“I’ll try someone else,” Steph mumbles, flopping over Dick’s shoulder, “Have fun working out, you evil person. Love you.”

Dick, laughing, pats her head and slides down the stairs.

Steph stomps off to find someone who will lend her their phone.

* * *

Steph is twenty minutes into a conversation with Damian about depending on people and trusting those you love not to abandon you when he asks, “Why are you here?” and gestures around the attic, which, valid.

Because everyone knows that the attic is Damian’s Space, and Steph is clearly Not Damian.

“Sister powers,” Steph says, nodding to herself.

Damian looks so unimpressed that Steph laughs at him. “Try again.”

“When was the last time you drank water?”

Damian goes on the defensive, “I—when was the last time _you_ drank water?”

“I asked first!” Steph sputters.

“I bet you haven’t had any since you woke up.”

“Have _you_ had any since _you_ woke up?”

Damian stammers through a few sentence starters.

“That’s what I _thought_. Let’s go get some water.”

Damian sniffs, wipes away the last remnants of tears, and then stands up and hugs Steph for a moment, before pulling away, quick as lightning. “Thank you,” he says, stiffly, which is how Steph knows that it’s sincere.

“No problem, kiddo,” she says, “Let’s go drink some water.”

* * *

She leaves Damian in the kitchen with Jason, the two of them quietly working through a baked alaska recipe, speaking in hushed voices, and she snags Damian’s phone on the way out.

The phone flashes open, and before she puts in his password (Dick’s birthday, which is just. _So_ cute) she sees _Screen Time Report. Daily Average—1 minute_ and thinks _I’m about to wreck this_ with a sadistic sort of glee.

She washes her underwear while listening to _NON DAILY REVELRY_ on loop, and thinks to herself, _oh my god, my Mandarin is so bad, I understand nothing_.

How are the others fluent in, like, a bajillion languages?

 _Ugh_.

This family is nuts. _Positively nuts._

She strains to hear the lyrics over running water when she fills the sink for each rinse, and tries not to wince when the music’s just a bit _too_ loud when the water _isn’t_ running.

It’s a terrible dilemma, truly.

She finishes washing her underwear quickly enough, to her pride, and, after Tim _finally_ wakes up, spends the next three hours alternating between doing her math homework and scrolling through social media or staring at random dance videos even though she doesn’t even dance.

At one point during these three hours, someone pokes their head in and asks if she wants lunch. She responds with a grouchy _no, I’m fine, thanks, no, I’m really not hungry, not even some veggies, it’s fine, yes, I’m not sick, love you_ because math is _hard_ and she is _stressed_ and she kinda regrets being snappy but at the same time she remembered to say _love you_ so that was a half-win, maybe?

It’s okay, the others are smart enough to know that she’s only grouchy because of her work.

Steph presses her face into the desk a few times and mumbles to herself words that even she doesn’t truly understand, miserable and confused.

By the time that she’s finished, Steph is tired and sort of relieved but mostly she’s thinking about how it’s already 3pm and she hasn’t done anything aside from math and washing underwear.

The _injustice_.

She wants to play video games and watch bad TV.

Instead, because Steph is _amazing_ and super disciplined (and also loves food and wants to be able to eat more of Jason’s cooking if she’s going to be totally honest… which she is! Totally), Steph _works out_.

Ugh.

She does 100 squats because she wanted to do the 100 squats challenge and then the rest of the family joined so now she can’t _not_ do it, and then she does an arm workout because her arms are noodles, and then she does like, half an ab workout before tapping out because _hasn’t she done enough? Hasn’t she suffered enough pain?_

She has.

Steph is doing a great job.

She is so proud of herself.

How is it not even 4pm yet?

Steph is tired.

Steph has done so much work.

Why is there more work?

Why does she still have _religion_? Why is she even taking religion? She doesn’t care about religion, she’s firmly atheist?

 _Uuugh_.

Steph is _dying_.

Can she not _rest_.

Why must she—holy shit, she has a programming assignment due in a week.

A week…

She can start it tomorrow (forget that it was assigned 1.5 weeks ago, pshaw).

Steph will… nap.

Yes.

She will nap.

She has done _so good_ today.

She is brilliant. She is amazing. She deserves this nap.

Steph puts on her dodie playlist and face plants onto her bed.

Nap time.

* * *

She wakes up with a snort. There is a blanket on her, which she definitely did not put on herself.

Cass is on the floor, doing crunches with her feet straight up in the air. There’s a weight on her feet.

Steph is too tired for this.

“Hey, dearest,” she mumbles, “Thanks for the blanket.”

“Not me,” Cass says, in a way that’s probably meant to be reassuring but is honestly just a bit confusing. “I am just here.”

“Oh,” Steph mumbles. That explains nothing. Cass, for all that she’s wonderful and a bean, is not the greatest with communication.

“You’re tired,” Cass leans over, pressing her face against Steph’s, like a cat.

“Just a bit,” Steph waits Cass out, and Cass rolls back into a handstand, naturally. Just like that. Steph is so jealous. “You wanted anything?”

“想练习讲中文 [wanted to practice speaking Chinese],” Cass agrees.

“Oh. Um,” Steph scrambles a bit, “…Chinese?”

Cass repeats her sentence, a bit slower, tapping her temples once and flipping her hands together.

“Practice speaking?”

Cass nods, “But you’re tired.”

“No, no,” Steph tries to find the right response in her head, “I, um—可以[we can].“

Cass squints at her a bit, and then says, in Mandarin, “ _[Let’s get] food. Eating [help]._ ”

“ _Are you hungry?_ ”

“ _Not_ not _hungry,_ ” Cass grins.

“ _Not not hungry,_ ” Steph repeats, trying her accent. She can hear how off it is, which she hates.

Cass repeats the sentence a few more times, Steph mimicking and adjusting each time.

Maybe Cass was right, she thinks as she stands up and stretches, yawning. Maybe she _is_ a bit too tired for this.

Ah well.

They fill their walk down the stairs with idle chatter, Cass talking about how she wants to wear a sweater but it’s too hot, Steph laughing at her and saying that she’s excited to wear her eye-searing pink romper, a discussion that meanders about, content in nothingness.

When they reach the bottom of the stairs, Cass slips her hand into Steph’s, swings their hands around for a bit, and then says, “Need to talk to Bruce.”

“Am I in trouble?” Steph asks, light, voice bright in a way that only one teasing and knowing full well that she _isn’t_ in trouble can use.

Cass, fond, knowing, shakes her head and cuffs the back of Steph’s head, “Teasing.”

Steph grins and kisses Cass’s cheek, “You love me.”

“Grateful,” Cass, perfect ray of sunshine, too good for this world, agrees.

Steph tells her this.

Cass shakes her head and laughs.

“You _are_ ,” Steph pokes Cass just below her ribs, where she’s ticklish, smiling victoriously when Cass giggles and pulls back, “You’re a cutie, a bean, absolutely wonderful—“

Cass hops on Steph’s back, clinging tight when Steph stagers for a moment and then reorients herself, “You, too.”

“You can’t just turn it around—“

“Love you!” Cass points forward, “Kitchen. I want doritos.”

* * *

Bruce, Steph thinks as she curls up next to him on the couch, looks tired.

He always looks tired, of course—side effect of being a… surgeon? Some sorta doctor, she forgets what (but children rarely know their parents’ occupations, and while Bruce isn’t a father he’s—something close, she supposes, something that fits the spirit of the law better than her own flesh and blood)—but she still feels bad when she notices. Like she’s wasting his time.

It’s silly, of course—such concerns always are—but Steph, tired, worn out from a day’s work and a bit frustrated that she barely got half her to-do list done, feels them all the same, in that little twist of her stomach as Bruce wraps his arm around her shoulder.

“How are we holding up, kiddo?” Bruce asks in that half-conspiratorial attempt at seeming approachable that he does.

“Fine,” Steph says, pressing her head against his chest and thinking a bit, “Or, I’m not really sure, but I don’t know how to sum it up neatly in one sentence.”

“Emotions aren’t made to be summed up,” Bruce says, “They exist purely to be felt and acknowledged.”

Which Steph thinks sounds pretty smart, even if she doesn’t funny understand it.

“You want some tea?”

“Maybe later.”

“When was the last time you drank water.”

“Ugh, why are you such a _dad_?”

“Come on, kiddo.”

“Fine, I’ll have some tea, but I want honey with it.”

“All the honey you want,” Bruce promises, “Do you want to come with me or wait here?”

The goofy part of Steph, the one that wants to be loud and teasing and make people smile, makes her push up her arms and say, “Piggyback.”

Bruce, as expected, gives a quiet little laugh, and says, “I’ll need your cooperation for that.”

Steph pouts and says, “Then I’ll just hop instead. Too much work.”

“And it’s less work to hop?”

“See, you get it.”

Bruce’s amused huff is one of the best sounds ever, Steph thinks. Dick said that he used to laugh a lot, loud and bright, but those things are rare and in-between now—she doesn’t mind that terribly, because Bruce is Bruce and she’s horribly fond of him for whatever reason, but still, it’s nice to hear him laugh.

“So, it’s like,” Steph hops a few steps before realizing _this is too hard and tiring_ and opts to walk normally instead.

Bruce, by the way he hides a smile behind his hand, seems to notice.

“It’s like, I’m content where I am,” Steph says, moving down the hall, slow, thoughtful, “I am. I know that a lot of people say that without meaning it but—you know me, B. I don’t want too much. I’m happy where I am and while I do love to grow and improve I think—who I am right now, where I am right now, it’s a good place.”

“I’m glad.”

“Yeah. And it’s like—being alive, existing, here, in this beautiful place and world, it’s—it’s _good_ , you know?” And Steph feels a bit guilty about that, sometimes, that she has this bright feeling of joy all the time when nobody else she knows has it all the time. Cass has it sometimes, but for Steph it’s constant—even at her most exhausting moments.

“That is good.”

“Yeah. So I just—you guys are really impressive, you know that?” Steph frowns at her socks, “You guys are all fluent in like, a bazillion languages, and you’re really fit and impressive and you’re a _doctor_ and I know that I’m cool too but it’s like—I don’t care, really, about things like you guys do.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I—you know how Jason gets really passionate about theatre and the arts and Dick is always doing his acrobatics and Tim and Babs are like, just masters and—and everyone has things that they love and adore, and they have this path that they want to take.”

They reach the kitchen. Bruce fills the kettle with cold water and sets it on its black base, flicking the switch on. It glows bright green.

“And I have plans, too, sure but I just—I wouldn’t care if they changed. I don’t have any ambitions, or dreams, really, because I already reached mine—you know? This peacefulness.”

“That’s good.”

“Is it? Because I feel like—like there’s something wrong with me. Like I’m missing something, something important, like—I’ve been reaching for contentment for so long, but now that I’m here I think—people always act like passion is this grand, important thing, but I don’t have that.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“To not have passion? I don’t know. I don’t have anything I really love so much.”

“You have plenty of things that you love. Just because you don’t have one thing that you place above everything else doesn’t mean that the things you love aren’t important as well.”

“But everyone’s pushing themselves to improve. And while I want to improve I’m just—I’m in no rush. I don’t really mind my pace—I like myself, in every way, I like living the way I am, I like—everything I have. And I don’t want anything more.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“It’s everything I dreamed of, as a kid.”

“Then I don’t see how it could be bad.”

“But everyone else—“

“Do you think that everyone ought to be the same, Steph? That we should all have the same worldview?”

“No.”

“Do you care what others think?”

‘Not really.”

“Then why are you bothered by who you are? Hard work is nice, but you don’t have to be a hard worker—so long as you’re content with yourself, I think that’s more than enough, really. You don’t have to be productive or brilliant—you just have to be.”

Steph watches the kettle’s switch flick up, steam whistling, the boiling water starting to settle, and feels a bit foolish for all her feelings.

“And, you know, Cass is a bit similar—she’s content where she is, happy just to be alive.”

“Cass works hard.”

“That’s just how she is. That’s just what she likes. Doesn’t mean you have to work hard.”

It feels a bit selfish, a bit strange. Steph has always worked hard for that peaceful, content future, where she loved who she was and didn’t care about anything else—and now that she has it, it’s a bright yet peculiar feeling.

“Thanks, B,” she says, sitting on the kitchen counter, “Can you give me some honey in my tea? One spoonful—a _big_ spoonful, not one of those little ones that Alfie uses to measure salt—”

* * *

Dinner, as always, is a rowdy affair.

Tim spends most of it trying to convince Bruce to let him use his 3DS whenever he wants as opposed to the 10am to 9pm rule (“I’m a grown person, B!”), Bruce sighs and tries valiantly not to be whittled down (“remember that week that you spent playing Bravely Default where you got 6 hours of sleep over the course of _seven days_ and you nearly ended up in the ER?”).

Steph tries not to laugh when she overhears them because Tim, being terribly honest, never says anything along the lines of ‘I have better self control now’.

He knows _full well_ that the sleepless incident will be repeated.

“If you can’t take care of your body,” Bruce says, clearly trying to restrain himself from pointing a spoonful of mashed potato at Tim, “Then it’s my duty to do my best to make sure you’re getting enough rest.”

“But you let Dick use the gym at any hours now! Since you’ve lifted his restrictions, it’s only fair that you lift mine.”

“Dick told me that he can control himself and get rest when he needs it. Can you do the same?”

Tim’s sullen silence makes the table laugh.

Jason, in between his eavesdropping of Tim and Bruce’s conversation, is having a conversation with Damian about the latest book they’ve read. Steph listens in a bit, but it’s all dry stuff, symbolism and so forth.

Steph, who is a calm, rational person, truly the brains of this family, is having a mature conversation with Dick.

“Pineapple pizza is disgusting,” Steph declares, jabbing her spoon at Dick.

“Is _not_ ,” Dick hisses.

“Is _too_.”

Alfred, calmly eating at the head of the table, seems fond of them despite the exasperated look he tries to keep on his face.

Hah. Steph _knows_ that Alfie is a softie, he can’t fool them.

Dinner dissolves into chaos. It always does.

Steph, smiling, fond, loving her family—steals some of Jason’s gravy.

* * *

Tim, curled on Steph’s bed, playing on his 3DS, battle music faint as Steph lays down next to him and asks, “When was the last time you drank water?”

“Don’t do this to me, Steph,” Tim says, quiet and tired, revives one of his party members with a quiet _shit_.

“Come on,” Steph’s wearing fuzzy socks, mismatched. Tim doesn’t like socks. She presses her foot against his, “Timmy.”

“Don’t call me that,” Tim grumbles, but he’s still facing her, so she knows by his pout that he isn’t really upset.

“ _Timmy_ ,” Steph says, again, just to annoy him.

Tim sticks out his tongue at her.

“Drink some water.”

“I will,” he insists, “Later.”

“Later, later. It’s always later.”

“I’ll get it. Ye of little faith.”

Steph hums and closes her eyes, slinging an arm over her eyes, “Don’t stay up too late tonight.”

“No promises.”

Quiet laughter.

Tim frowns at his game, and they stay there, in peaceful silence, only the sound of Tim’s video game in the air, content to be in each other’s presence.

Steph closes her eyes and lets the day’s worries clear away.

She’s still sleeping when Tim covers her with a blanket and turns the lights off, and doesn’t wake until morning.

It’s been a long day.

It’s been a good day.

And she has this--all this, all this life, and when she breathes in the morning she is grateful--what more could she want?

**Author's Note:**

> WAIT!!! BEFORE YOU LEAVE (kudos or a comment or even this page)!!! Do you need to sleep? If so, sleep. When was the last time you drank water? Drink some right now. Have you eaten anything solid in the past three hours? If not, eat. You can only leave this page once you've done all three things--that INCLUDES kudos. I'd rather have zero kudos than you try and slip out of this, okay? Take care of yourself. Love y'all.


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